Summer of the Burning Sky

by Susan May Warren

  “You saw Buttles?” Stevie shook her head. “How?”

  And that would be a story. So, “I’ll tell you, but…I think Rio is walking into an ambush. I know where they’re going, but we have to get to him before Buttles does. Please.”

  Stevie just stood there, considering her.

  And Skye was standing there with a fire torch, dripping fire everywhere, not sure what to do. The frustration pushed tears into her eyes, and she reached for the only thing she had. “If you don’t help me, I’ll go alone.”

  Stevie glanced at her father, now being loaded into the SUV, Blake and the medic climbing in after him.

  Tucker’s jaw hardened. “No, you won’t, Skye.”

  And Skye got it—she really did. Stevie—and probably Tucker—didn’t want anything else to happen to someone on the team. And she was hardly equipped to stop someone like Buttles.

  But she meant it. She wasn’t going to run away or stand still or let the fear of disaster keep her from doing something. The right thing.

  “Yeah, I will. Just like you chose Stevie over the fire line, I need to choose Rio.”

  Tucker’s mouth tightened. He looked at Stevie. “It wasn’t a choice.”

  Skye’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t have a choice either. Fine. “I’ll go alone then.”

  But Stevie had turned to Tucker. “Alone is not best. So, I guess you haven’t gotten rid of me yet, hotshot.”

  Her words swooped out Skye’s breath. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Although I’m not sure why I should trust Rio—”

  “Because he’s FBI.”

  Oh. She hadn’t meant to tell them—Rio had been so determined to stay undercover to protect her. But…well, they were just as likely to shoot him, weren’t they? Maybe it was time for her to protect him.

  Stevie just stared at her. “What?”

  “Yeah. He’s been protecting Darryl and trying to gain his trust so he’ll testify against Buttles. He’s driving Darryl to his house to see his wife, Alicia before she goes into labor. They live not far from here.”

  Stevie nodded. “Okay. But we need weapons and backup and a vehicle. Which means we need to catch that ride to the clinic. We’ll figure it out on the way.”

  Skye wanted to weep with relief. She looked at Tucker, who answered with a tight line of disapproval.

  Yeah well, if he could follow his heart, she could too.

  8

  Rio wasn’t a fugitive, and he didn’t want to get shot for being mistaken as one.

  Even though, technically, he did steal a car.

  Still, the last thing he needed was to get pulled over and have some trigger-happy deputy decide he needed to be a hero.

  Rio unbuttoned his bright orange shirt and shoved it under the seat. He glanced at Darryl, who looked rough in the passenger side of the Jeep. Like he might pass out. Or hurl.

  “How far is your house?”

  Darryl leaned his head back. “About a mile from here. Just off the highway. Keep driving.”

  They’d only traveled a few miles from the campground toward Copper Mountain, the wilderness thickening as they headed south along the highway.

  In the side mirror, Rio could make out the dangerous black plume that clawed the sky, evidence that the fire they’d thought they’d beat had roared back to life.

  Not unlike this little adventure, because the closer they got to civilization, the closer Rio came to someone mistaking him as a real fugitive and shooting him on sight.

  No way. Because the only thing on his brain the minute they’d gotten some wheels—after the idea of nabbing Buttles—was tracking down Skye and telling her…

  What?

  That he loved her? No…but…maybe that she’d ignited something inside him he’d thought cold. He could call it hope, and it simmered a heat through him that he didn’t want to die. So, maybe…maybe they could figure out what that meant.

  He was tired of living his life behind bars, lying, pretending to be a criminal.

  He wanted…well, maybe what his parents had before the nightmare.

  A family, a home. Someone who helped keep fed the warm hum in his chest.

  Someone he could so very easily love.

  “Turn here,” Darryl said and pointed to a cutout in the road, more of a dirt path than a road, but many homes up here were simply scrabbled out of the wilderness. He slowed and turned east off the highway, low branches suggesting the driveway needed a trim.

  The smoke billowed out to the northeast, and even Darryl saw it now and sat up. “That looks bad.”

  Right. And Skye might be heading back into it. The thought put a fist around his chest, and Rio clenched his jaw against the rush to dump Darryl at his house and follow his heart back to the fire.

  But Skye was smart and strong, and she knew what she was doing.

  I’m in way over my head, Rio. I live in terror that I’ll get it wrong.

  Another prayer—this time easier, given the last answered plea—rose from inside him. Please, God, help her not to freeze. Give her everything she needs.

  The rutted dirt road—barely accessible—wound back at least a mile before daylight opened into a yard and an A-frame with a wide porch off the front. Flowers in washtubs and wooden containers lined the porch and the wide steps, welcoming and fresh. To the left, an open shed held a snowmobile, a four-wheeler, and stacked firewood. Beyond the house, a trail led to a tiny lake, backdropped by a mountainside.

  Seriously. Darryl had a little piece of paradise carved out here.

  And then the door opened.

  A pretty brunette, her hair pulled back, waddled out. But instead of holding her amazingly huge belly, she gripped a rifle and stood on the porch with a growl on her face.

  Rio pulled up, stopped the car. “Listen, I’m serious—”

  “I’ll tell you everything,” Darryl said and nearly ran out of the car. “Alicia!”

  Rio got out slowly, watching as Darryl ran up the steps and swept her up. She dropped the rifle and cried out with joy.

  Life was so unfair. Rio spent his time alone, putting away jerks who went home to women who loved them.

  He wanted a woman who loved him. Who took his face in her hands and kissed him without hesitation, regardless of his crimes or the fact that he wore dried blood and the remnants of a brutal escape on his face and body.

  Rio retrieved the gun—just in case—and waited for the reunion to end, looking out at the lake and beyond, to the undulating black and gray smoke. He couldn’t see flames from here, but the fire must have tripled in size.

  “What are you doing here?” Alicia leaned away from Darryl, glanced briefly at Rio, then back.

  “I had to see you,” Darryl said. “I was worried about you. And the baby.” He leaned down, kissed her belly.

  Rio just stood there, stymied. Except, he was tired of lying. “We broke out of prison.”

  Darryl shot him a glare, and appropriately so because Alicia gasped. “What—Darryl!”

  He took her hands. “I had to see you, babe.”

  “You’re hurt.” She looked at his arm.

  “I’m fine. Just a nick.”

  Rio rolled his eyes.

  Her nod indicated Rio. “So, he’s a prisoner too?” Fear flashed over her face.

  “Yeah—”

  “No.” Rio was sick of lying. “I’m not. I’m with the FBI. And we’re only here because Darryl has agreed to testify against Wayne Buttles.”

  Her eyes widened. “But you—you promised that—”

  “Alicia.” Darryl pressed his forehead into hers. “It’s going to be okay. FBI here is going to get Buttles, stop him, and you and the baby will be safe.”

  He looked at Rio then, daring his words to be wrong, but Rio just nodded.

  That was the plan, at least.

  “I don’t—oh!” Alicia grabbed the railing, her hand on her belly, leaning over and breathing out long and hard.

  Darryl freaked out. “What—is it the baby—are you oka
y?” He grabbed her arms, eased her over to an Adirondack chair. Knelt next to her. “Are you in labor?”

  Rio expected her to shake her head, because no—they couldn’t be showing up just in time for her to have a baby. But, “I have been since yesterday, I think. I called Larke Kingston—she’s on her way.”

  “Is Larke a midwife?” Darryl asked.

  “No, she’s a bush medic and yeah, she can deliver babies, but…I didn’t want to go to a regular doctor and…well, you told me to hide, so…?” She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. Breathed. After a moment, “That was a bigger one.”

  “When is Larke supposed to get here?”

  “I don’t know. I radioed her a bit ago, but…” Her eyes widened. “I think we need to get to the Denali Clinic.”

  Oh, perfect. Just what Rio needed—to go somewhere public where the police might find them and arrest him—maybe shoot him.

  Except, Alicia closed her eyes again, and by the set of her jaw, yeah, they didn’t have time to wait for some backwoods doc to show up on horseback.

  “Let’s go,” Rio said.

  “I need to leave Larke a note—tell her where I went.”

  Darryl helped her up and made to follow her into the house, but Rio grabbed his arm. “I do this…and you keep your word.” Whatever good his promise was.

  “Yeah, man. Yes. Let’s just get her to the hospital.”

  “Then you need to get cleaned up, and we need to change out of these clothes.”

  He followed Darryl into the house, holding the rifle loosely, not putting it down until Darryl had changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and was helping Alicia into the back seat of the Jeep.

  Darryl had given him a change of clothes also, and Rio pulled on a fresh T-shirt, a flannel shirt, and a baseball cap. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Alicia had pinned a note to her front door.

  “Hurry,” Darryl said, climbing in next to her in the back seat.

  Alicia groaned.

  Rio backed out, the smoke billowing in his rearview mirror as he took off down the road. And maybe now was the time to get a little down payment on Darryl’s promises.

  “The key to your safety is us finding Buttles. So…tell me where you would meet him.”

  “It’s at a truck stop north of the Canadian border. I don’t know how they get…the cargo…across.”

  The cargo. “You mean the trafficked girls?”

  Alicia drew in a breath, and Rio glanced into the rear-view mirror. She was staring at Darryl with a sort of horror on her face. “What—what is he talking about?”

  Huh. And Rio probably shouldn’t have enjoyed Darryl’s deep swallow, the way he looked at his wife.

  Rio filled in the gap. “Darryl has been trafficking girls across the border, down into the Lower 48—”

  “I only drove the truck!”

  “That’s like saying, I only watched a little porn. Everything, anything you do to support this industry is enslaving these women.” He glanced at Alicia, then at her unborn child. “What if you have a daughter? Think that through for one moment. Imagine someone kidnapping her and taking her—to do whatever he or she wants with her.” He shook the image of Aggie from his mind, his voice cutting low so he didn’t do something crazy.

  Emotional.

  Stupid.

  Darryl looked away from him. “I know. I…” He took a breath. “I kept thinking that maybe if I didn’t think about it, or told myself I was just doing a job…” He looked at Alicia. “I’m sorry. I justified what I did for…for us. But—”

  “You can’t take what’s bad and make it good just by giving yourself good reasons for it,” she said quietly.

  Her words found Rio, dug inside. No wonder he felt soiled down to his bones. Because he’d done exactly that—bad things for the sake of good. But it left a residue on his soul he couldn’t wash off.

  “Do the right thing now, Darryl,” Rio said. “Buttles has to have a contact on the Canadian side. Or someone who can get them through border control. Think. Did you ever see anyone?”

  “I don’t know. I switch trucks and drive back to Anchorage.”

  “You never stuck around to see the handoff?”

  Darryl had put his arm around Alicia again. She was crying.

  “Yeah, once. There was a guy, another driver, I think. And Buttles was there. He was with a blond guy, hard jawline. Dressed nice—in a suit, like he was a businessman. That’s why I noticed him.”

  “Did you get a name?”

  “No. I went into the bathroom, and they were in a booth talking. When I came out, he was gone. But maybe he’s Buttles’s connection to the Lower 48.”

  Darryl offered a small tug of a smile. As if he wanted to help. Really.

  Alicia moaned again.

  They hit the highway. “Which way to the clinic?”

  “North. Just up the road—it’s closer than the Copper Mountain hospital. Hurry!”

  Rio turned north, the fire in his view, and from here, he could make out the flicker of flames. They chewed into the blue sky, hungry.

  “That’s a big fire,” Alicia said.

  “I was fighting that,” Darryl said, with some pride in his voice.

  Seriously?

  “We were fighting it before a guy on our crew decided to make a break for it. Your husband decided to go with him,” Rio said.

  Maybe if they had stuck around, the fire wouldn’t have resurrected.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Alicia said though captured breaths. “You’re going to be in big trouble, Darryl.”

  “You’re worth it, babe.”

  Rio shook his head.

  “Don’t worry. FBI here is going to take care of us,” Darryl said. “He’ll get me out of trouble.”

  Oh boy.

  “Listen, Darryl,” Rio said. “When we get to the clinic, just…well, we don’t want to raise any attention. I don’t know if the marshals have reported our escapes, but they usually alert local hospitals and clinics in case anyone has been injured during the escape. So…keep your head down, and I’ll contact my people as soon as I can.”

  “I’m staying with Alicia,” Darryl said, predictably.

  The clinic was located on a hill just off the highway, a long shed-like building with a wheelchair ramp to the Urgent Care door, a garage for an ambulance, a chopper pad in the back, and a black SUV in the parking lot. Rio pulled up near the emergency door and hopped out, coming around to help Alicia.

  Darryl had pulled her into his arms and was marching up the ramp. The doors opened, and Rio did a quick scan of the area. No cops.

  He followed Darryl inside the small clinic to the reception area. They took one look at Alicia and directed her into a nearby exam room. Darryl joined her.

  Rio stood, staring inside the room, scrubbing his hand down his face, when they pulled a privacy screen.

  Perfect. Because he didn’t put it above Darryl to try to run again.

  But probably not with his wife in labor.

  Rio needed a phone. And a shower. And…well, he wouldn’t mind knowing if Skye was okay.

  Please. Because he couldn’t get out of his head the fear that she would head right back to the fire line, dive back into danger.

  He knew her. She wouldn’t give up if she knew she could save lives.

  “Hands up! Don’t move!”

  The voice froze him, and he brought his hands out, slowly, clasping them behind his head. Turning.

  A US marshal—dark hair, the size of a linebacker—stood behind him, holding a Glock. He wore an I-mean-it look on his face.

  Oh, perfect.

  “Listen—”

  “On your knees.”

  He obeyed.

  “Get down, on your face, hands behind your back.”

  “Listen—”

  “Now!”

  Rio blew out a breath, lay on the floor, his cheek against the cool tile, and submitted as the big man put a knee into his back and cuff
ed him.

  He hauled him up, and Rio turned to him. “Listen, I’m not who you think I am—”

  “I think you’re an escaped felon who’s going back to prison for a very long time.” The big man looked at the nurse. “Do you have a lunchroom or somewhere I can put him?”

  The poor woman stared at Rio, wide-eyed. Nodded. Pointed to a nearby room.

  “Dude, you need to listen to me. I’m FBI. I can prove it. The real criminal is in that room with his wife. She’s in labor. And—”

  “Tell it to your lawyer.”

  Sheesh. “I’m not lying!”

  “Right.” The marshal hauled him into a lunchroom and shoved him into a chair. “Your accomplice is in the exam room?”

  “He’s not—” Rio shook his head. “Yes. Please go make sure he doesn’t get away.”

  He got a sort of wry shake of the head. “I’m right outside the door. Stay put.” Then the man left.

  And Rio was right back where he’d started.

  But at least Skye was safe.

  They were wasting time. Okay, maybe taking Archer Mills to the Denali Clinic where he wouldn’t die couldn’t be counted as a waste of time. And sure, Skye understood Stevie wanting to wait until her father was stabilized.

  But now that they’d dropped him off at the clinic, now that they were on the way to Buttles’ place, Stevie kept looking at Skye as if her story might be a wild tale, and frankly, every time she repeated it, it did sound a little crazy.

  “You’re sure it was Buttles?”

  “Dark hair, cut across his face. Yes, it was him. I’m positive.”

  “And he was with—”

  “A blond guy. Good looking. He called him Pope.”

  To her credit, Stevie had been useful. She’d called in the information on Darryl, asked to verify Rio’s identity, and gotten the address of Darryl’s next of kin, something the US marshals had gathered on all the fugitives. Darryl’s home address was listed as only two miles south of the clinic, into the back country.

  Please, please let it be hard to find.

  Tucker sat in the front seat, glancing now and again past her, through the window to the plume of acrid black and gray smoke that ate at the blue sky. He was trying to raise Seth on the radio.